


Steady as the Old Oak Tree

by AllNatural



Category: Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 06:22:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8962393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllNatural/pseuds/AllNatural
Summary: How odd, Takashi thought absently, that being mistaken for his dead grandmother hurt less than mistaking the demons and spirits for humans.





	

It should be obvious to tell the difference between _them_ and everyone else.  That the physical traits would stand out to remind him that this is a person—demon, spirit, god, entity—that others cannot see.  But for Takashi, most of them don’t appear as the monsters they are.  It hadn’t been until later in life that he’d figured out humans don’t also look like animals sometimes, or have red skin, or have horns growing out of their body, or have no eyes and only a gaping maw for a mouth.

Even with that knowledge, he often doesn’t realize until it’s too late.  Not until he points out figures in the distance that are only visible to him.  Or when he sees a high school girl he walks by every day for two months sink her teeth into a struggling rabbit, blood dripping onto her white and blue button-down uniform.  It’s those times that he’ll feel the world tilt, the thread of _this is_ _real_ and _this_ _is not real_ fray even further, pain blossoming behind his eyes because he was _wrong_ once again.

This had been one of those moments.  The old man who’d been struggling to get across the street had looked like any other.  Spine permanently curled forward, spindly fingers with swollen knuckles wrapped around an equally knotted cane, face lined with deep grooves made more prominent by the tan lines formed between each one; there was nothing about the elder that had stuck out to Takashi as unnatural.  Takashi had helped keep him steady as they crossed at a light, and then at the man’s request had offered him company on the way home.  He’d noticed the strange looks as he passed others on the sidewalk, guiding the elderly man out of the way of those walking toward them who didn’t see fit to step aside, but had taken it as rudeness instead of ignorance.

It was Tanuma who had figured it out first.  He had been walking toward Takashi, a small plastic sack hanging from the crook of his arm and an umbrella shielding him from the light drizzle.  He’d taken in Takashi’s stance, slightly hunched to one side as the elderly man used his arm for support, and the way he’d been making space for the man to move down the street.  Tanuma had quietly taken up on Takashi’s other side, eyes narrowing at the old man before leaning over and murmuring in a tone soft enough that those passing around them couldn’t hear, “Who are you walking with?”

It was only Tanuma’s hand settling on his lower back that kept Takashi upright as the vertigo kicked in, the little shift in his vision that accompanied the cold chill spreading from his heart and throat out to the very tips of his fingers and toes.  The old man didn’t seem to hear or notice, still chattering on about his trespassing neighbour.  It took only a few seconds for Takashi to regain his stride, but the light in his eyes had faded, the small smile he’d worn at listening to the prattling old man’s problems unable to form once more. 

Takashi remained silent, and Tanuma kept his hand against Takashi’s back until they reached a fork in the path.  One trail led deeper into the forest, while the other continued along the edge of the woods.  Takashi couldn’t remember if this path had been here earlier today when he was walking into town.  That uncertainty was enough to know that he couldn’t continue, that he couldn’t go down that road, especially not when he had Tanuma with him.

“I need to head home,” Takashi told the old man—no, the old _demon_ —as he withdrew his arm.  The old man— _demon_ —merely adjusted his grip on the gnarled wooden staff, his smile shifting the wrinkles around his face.

“Of course, of course.  You stay safe, Natsume Reiko, and thank you for indulging this old oak once more,” he said, voice raspy and thin.  He walked away down the forest road, his gait shuffling him forward but leaving no tracks in the dirt. 

How odd, Takashi thought absently, that being mistaken for his dead grandmother hurt less than mistaking the demons and spirits for humans.

Takashi continued to stare down the pathway, mind whirling with confusion.  It was only when Tanuma’s hand moved away that he remembered the other boy was still there.  Takashi couldn’t bring himself to look at what expression the other wore.  Was he amused by Takashi’s mistake, understanding his dilemma? Or did he feel disturbed and unsettled, as so many others had been throughout Takashi’s life? 

He knew, logically, that he shouldn’t worry about that.  Tanuma understood what it was that Takashi could see, as he sometimes saw faint shadows and reflections himself that had caused him to be ill for most of his life.  But the deep-seeded fear (the one that whispered in his dreams, reminding him that he was a liar, that he was crazy) was stronger than logic.  His heart pounded, his chest felt cold, and his eyes burned as fiercely as his face did with the shame of slipping up again.

A warm, gentle touch to his chin had him flinching, but the steady grip lifted his face skyward, the umbrella shifting the rain aside as dark eyes regarded him with a calm that Takashi couldn’t find within himself.

“It’s okay, Natsume,” Tanuma said, his voice just as soft as when he had asked earlier about his unseen companion.  “It wasn’t obvious.  You’re okay.”

It was only when Tanuma’s other hand came around to cup Takashi’s cheek that he realized he was shaking.  The thumb swiping across his cheek removed salt water instead of rain. Those warm hands felt burning hot against the cold inside of Takashi, and the longer they stood there, the more that warmth spread back through him, from his fingers to his heart.

“Can you tell me about them?” Tanuma asked.  They were alone, the path they stood on leading toward Tanuma’s house rarely traveled by anyone else but the monk and his son and the _others_ who lived out here.  No one would hear as Takashi stumbled over his words, hesitant at first but gaining strength as Tanuma’s resolve didn’t waver.  So he told the other boy about the old oak spirit, how he’d been struggling to make it through the crowded human streets on his way back to the forest he’d been born in.  How the creases on his face had looked like the rings of a tree stump, weathered with age, and his fingers like branches.  How the moment that the oak spirit was out of sight the path had shimmered like dawn’s light on morning dew, and then faded back into the tangle of branches and brambles that were starting to bud with spring greens. 

How, looking back on it now, it should have been obvious. 

It never was.

“He looked—” Takashi said, but cut himself off, biting his lip and dropping his eyes once again.  Tanuma’s hand no longer grasped his chin, having come to settle on one of his shoulders, which trembled from both emotion and the spring’s evening breeze.  He drew in a deep breath, but Tanuma spoke before he could.

“I know.  You don’t need to explain yourself to me.  I understand.”

He let himself be led back to the temple Tanuma’s father took care of, then seated in the living room with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a hot mug of lemonade cradled between both palms.  Tanuma sat across from him with his own blanket and drink, though the deeper, sharper scent of coffee wafted from within.  No more words were exchanged, just comfort, and that was what Takashi needed most.


End file.
